


Together

by hdarchive



Series: What I Need [16]
Category: Glee
Genre: BadBoy!Blaine, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5853790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His plan has been right there beside him this entire time, he just couldn't see it until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

His eighteenth birthday comes up on the Sunday the week after, and he wishes it would just go away.

As nice as it is to have somebody actually care, somebody to wake him up at seven in the morning to sing happy birthday to him, to have somebody pester him repeatedly throughout the day asking him what he wants, he ends up telling Kurt to forget about it, because with his audition just days away Kurt can’t afford any distractions.

There’s no evidence that he even had a birthday. He quickly forgets about it as soon as it turns midnight and suddenly it’s a new day, somebody else’s birthday.

Except for the phonecall that he purposely ignored.

 _dad (satan)_ , the screen had said. It rang, and rang, and rang, and then went silent, until it started ringing again. So he ignored it again, let it go to voicemail, swore to himself that he wouldn’t check it.

That was two days ago, his birthday long since over, but the phone call stays pressed in his mind.

He stares at the text that says _Please call me._ and hovers his thumb over the call button but doesn’t dare press it.

If he does call him, well, he has a pretty good idea what they’d talk about. Or fight about. He’s eighteen now, an adult, time to have everything figured out, time to have his entire future decided. But how is he supposed to know what he wants to do forever when he’s not even sure about tomorrow?

So he doesn’t call him. He sets his phone on the coffee table in the living room and goes to the kitchen and mindlessly rummages through the cupboards, the fridge, the cupboards again and then the fridge again. Anything to distract him.

He’d call Kurt, but his audition is tomorrow. The first step to the rest of his life is laid out clear in front of him tomorrow, so he can’t bug him and take away from that. He’ll be there for him, he’ll cheer him on and clap louder than anyone physically can and watch Kurt take that step, but he won’t get in the way.

He’s a bit jealous. It’d be nice to know where he’s walking. It’d be nice to have somewhere _to_ walk to.

No.

It’d be nice to not be _stuck_.

Even if he had any idea, saw a destination he wanted to go to and knew how to get there, it’s kind of too late. He can’t move across that bridge because he’s burned it.

Ms. Pillsbury has been going over college applications with him during counselling still. Looking at brochures, at websites, Ms. Pillsbury even calling schools directly to try and wiggle a way in for him. Graduation is coming up too quick and there aren’t enough schools out there that will take him, even if it weren’t so late in the year.

But she always laughs nervously in the end, looks away from his stupidly hopeful face and says, ‘Oh well, that school wasn’t the right choice for you anyways.’ as she crosses whatever school it was off their list.

Every single time.

His grades suck, his attendance is even worse, and then there’s the main problem.

The big problem.

He’s just not _good enough_ at anything, he already knows that, so it’s hard to be hopeful and it’s hard to want to try.

Stupid him. He still does. He looks at Kurt and thinks of Kurt and he really wants to, so bad, to be on his level, to be just as good, to go where he goes and to be what he needs, to see what he sees. But every day closer to graduation he knows it’s just one day closer to being apart.

He won’t let himself think of that though. He refuses.

He slams the cupboard closed and slumps against the kitchen island, huffs loudly to himself and considers going for a drive, blasting some music and singing along and just forgetting that he exists. But the doorbell rings, interrupting his thoughts, leaving him confused because there’s nobody on this earth who would come visit this house willingly.

Trudging his way across the floor in his socked feet, he goes to the door, opens it, and there’s Kurt, still dressed in his school clothes, standing with his hands behind his back.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, genuinely shocked, and a little worried because he’s not more important than Kurt’s audition, so Kurt _shouldn’t_ be here. “You should be getting ready for tomorrow.”

Kurt laughs, nose wrinkling up as he says, “If I have to hear myself sing one more time in the next eighteen hours I will shove a sock in my own mouth.”

He wants to sigh in relief that Kurt chose him over anything else, and leans against the doorframe and takes Kurt in with his eyes, forehead scrunching up a bit confused. “What’s behind your back?”

“Oh,” Kurt exclaims like he forgot, moves his arms and presents a plastic package containing six tiny pink cupcakes to Blaine. “I know you said not to get you anything for your birthday, but I can’t seem to pass up an opportunity to commemorate a special occasion, so . . .”

“Kurt, you shouldn’t have . . “ He doesn’t know how to use his hands all of a sudden, fumbling with the package, mouth stuck open in awe, in surprise, eyes wide but soft on Kurt. “I can’t bake for shit, so don’t expect anything on your birthday.”

Kurt quickly waves his hand dismissively, eyes rolling. “You flatter me. I didn't have time to bake, so those are store bought. I scratched the label off.”

He ducks his head and laughs, heart giving a weird stop-start stutter, and pulls Kurt inside with his free hand.

Having Kurt there suddenly makes life seem sparkling, when it was grey and dull just a few seconds ago. He thinks of a million things to do, to talk about, forgets all about the phone on the coffee table and the conversation he can’t have with his dad. He sits Kurt down on the couch, gives him the cupcakes and asks if he wants anything to drink, then takes off to the kitchen to get him some water.

When he gets back, Kurt is looking around the room, sitting with his back straight and shoulders tense, like he’s not really sure how to hold himself here. They don’t spend much time outside of his room.

“Are you home alone?” Kurt asks, voice scratching a little in his throat, and takes the glass of water Blaine hands him.

He thumps down on the couch next to him, sprawls back on the armrest and shrugs. “Mom’s at an open house until eight.”

“Oh.” Kurt takes a sip, continues to look around, at the television that never really gets used, currently turned off, the fireplace that sits in the center of the far wall, which also never really gets used, then back to Blaine, and smiles kind of sadly. “Am I interrupting anything? You - you must be busy I should have called -”

“No no -” He quickly sits up, puts a hand on Kurt’s arm and squeezes it tight, panicked for a second at the thought of Kurt leaving. “Don’t leave. Otherwise I’d just stare at my phone all night.”

Kurt visibly relaxes, muscles melting under Blaine’s hand, his breath coming out in a sigh, and then he gives Blaine a complexed look, eyes now switching to the phone on the table.

“What’s wrong with your phone?”

“Nothing. It’s what I’d do with it that I’m avoiding.”

Kurt puts his glass down on the table and turns towards Blaine more, puts his hand over his reassuringly. “Are you alright?”

“Kinda.” He thinks for a second, because Kurt’s already here, so he has no reason not to tell him, but he still feels guilty because Kurt’s future starts tomorrow and he can’t use his lack of one to take away from that. “It’s just my dad. He called on my birthday, so I’ve been debating on whether or not I should call back.”

Kurt nods, rubs his thumb across the back of Blaine’s hand. “Would it make you feel better?”

He laughs, a rough snort through his nose. “Doesn’t matter. Could make me feel better, doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”

Taking his hand away for a second, Kurt reaches over for the cupcakes, opens the package and hands one to Blaine. “Do you know what he wants?” he asks as he scoots closer along the couch until he can put his hand on Blaine again without having to reach.

“I have a good idea,” he hums, takes the wrapper off the cupcake and throws it towards the table, takes a bite and thinks. “College probably. Something about school.”

“Doesn’t sound ideal,” Kurt says, and leans forward, mouth opening, and Blaine offers him the rest.

“No. But you’re here, I’ll deal with it later.” He moves closer, puts his hand on Kurt’s back and softly strokes up and down. “Are you nervous?”

Kurt makes a face, shoulders pulling up a little. “Yes and no,” he says, swallows his bite and then smiles. “I know I can do it. I know that as soon as the music starts I’ll be in the right headspace and instinct will take over and I’ll have no choice but to give it my all, but . . . I’m just worried that maybe my all isn't enough.”

And it’s his instinct to refute that, dragging his hand upwards to stretch out over the back of Kurt’s neck, thumb stroking against the soft skin there.

“It is. It’s more than enough,” he says, and even though Kurt’s got icing on the corner of his upper lip he leans closer to kiss him. “That school won’t know what hit ‘em.”

It’s then, when Kurt goes a bit stiff, when Blaine’s words fade out and none fade in, that he acknowledges the tense air, everything that they’re not saying and everything they both must be thinking.

New York is very far away from little Lima, Ohio . . . and if Kurt’s there, then where does that put him?

“Uh, I’ve been uh, looking at schools too,” he says a bit awkwardly, not sure how to word it, and Kurt leans back into his touch, eyes focused but not hard on Blaine. “Nothing fancy, not that I have the option to choose really. Either looking at community college or spending the rest of my life working at 7-11.”

Kurt shudders, closes his eyes and holds his hand out. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“I’m just being honest, Kurt,” he says, sighs, tries not to let his voice break or waver or crack or sound even remotely weak. “Even if schools were still accepting, I kinda shot that horse in the face by getting expelled from Dalton.”

Opening his eyes, Kurt gives his head a gentle shake, turns inwards a little to press his lips to Blaine’s wrist and mumbles there, “It’s never too late.”

“I wish I could - I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to try harder,” he groans and brings his free hand up to rub over his eyes. He thinks about all the times he thought _what’s the point?_ just because he couldn’t see the point at the time. All the times he thought _why should I even try?_ and just gave up. “That it’s okay to want to try.”

“You can try now,” Kurt says firmly, surely, and pulls Blaine’s hand away from his face, away from his eyes. “Now you know what you can do.”

He laughs, because that might just be the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

“I don’t know what I can do, Kurt, that’s the thing,” he says like it’s a secret, low and quiet and cold in his throat. “And I’m just so tired of it. Can’t the world like - just stop for five seconds so I can figure it out?”

That’s what his birthday had felt like. A countdown. Seventeen years old up until _11:59 PM_ and then suddenly he was an adult, and he felt the pressure and the scrutiny because he was an adult but had the brain of a child, too many dreams and wishes in his head instead of ambition and skill.

“What do you want to do?”

Kurt’s question and his voice shock him, have him sitting upright and pulling his hand away, because that’s not a question he can answer and Kurt _knows_ that.

Hands waving frantically, he splutters, “I don’t know, Kurt, I just said that -”

“No,” Kurt says sharply, and sits up to face Blaine, his gaze sharp and his eyes shining, stern and determined. “If there were no limitations, if all you had to do was say yes and it would happen, what would it be? What would you want?”

“I -”

He doesn’t know.

God he doesn’t know if he could have anything in this world what would it be what does he need -

Kurt holds his hand. “Don’t be afraid to tell me.”

“I don’t know,” he says again, more shamefully this time. “I’m not - good at anything.”

“Who cares about that? If you like doing it, that’s all that matters.”

“You mean you’d still sing even if you sucked ass?”

Kurt nods. “I’d keep trying until I got better.”

There he is, _that’s_ Kurt, sounding so sure and strong. He almost forgot that it's been nearly two weeks since Kurt sounded so weak, so unlike himself. Like that never actually happened.

“Yeah but . . . I still don’t know what I want to do,” he sighs, looks up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I don’t really mind - I like - helping people, I guess.”

“So be a doctor.”

He looks down again to find Kurt grinning at him, freeing his hand from Blaine’s only to trail it up Blaine’s chest, tugging at the front of his shirt.

“Yeah, right.”

“A lawyer!”

“Kurt.”

“I wouldn’t object to you being a firefighter.”

He laughs, tips his head to Kurt’s and laughs again until it fades into a sigh. “. . . can’t really be any of those things if I end up at community college.”

Kurt nods against him, splays his hand out flat against Blaine’s chest, right over his heart.

“There are other ways to help people, Blaine.”

He could do so much, if he could just try. Helping people . . . that always feels good. Doing the right thing, making somebody else smile, making somebody else’s day easier, their life somehow better. He doesn’t know how he’d turn that into a job or a career or a life path, but that’s all he knows he’s good at, sort of.

“My dad is going to kill me,” he sighs, shuts his eyes tightly and fights off thoughts of him. “First Cooper and now me _fuck_ -”

“Do you really care what he thinks?”

“I shouldn’t, but I do.”

Too much, he cares too much, spent his whole life trying not to care but he does. He’s never had a plan, he’s just been pretending.

Kurt finds his hand again, and he feels bad because he should be comforting Kurt right now, should be stroking his back and kissing his lips and making him feel better, but he feels too weak, too defeated and deflated right now.

“When you know what you want to do, it’ll be worth it,” Kurt says, holding the side of Blaine’s face with his other hand, prompting him to look up. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes.”

He shakes his head, presses his face to Kurt’s hand. “Even if I do, when I do . . . can’t be the best, can’t even be good.”

Kurt smiles and leans a bit forward, kissing him lightly, sweetly, the slightest brush of lips.

“It’s not about being the best, Blaine, it’s about trying your best.”

It’s like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear those words, waiting for those words to wake him up, to restart his system, make it run new and improved.

“Still learning how to do that,” he whispers, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.

Kurt presses his lips together and hums, expression thoughtful, and keeps his hand on Blaine’s face as he says, “Maybe it’s this town. It’s limiting your ability to _see_ your abilities.”

That makes him freeze, makes his system spark and crackle and shut down, overloaded and overwhelmed trying to keep up with how fast he’s suddenly thinking. He’s never thought about leaving, always felt stuck, was always jealous of Cooper for getting to flee and thinking he was just meant to always live here, be a slave here.

“Maybe I should just go to New York with you,” he says jokingly, and even though he adds in a laugh he feels his whole chest tighten up.

What a dream that would be.

Kurt immediately pulls away, sits up straight, eyes wide and alarmed and -

He can’t tell what he looks like, he’s never seen Kurt look like that before -

“I was - I’m kidding, Kurt, I’m kidding,” he stammers, heart racing, blood coursing mad through his veins.

He’s kidding, yeah, but if he could . . . in his wildest, craziest dreams, if he could say what he really wanted without any limitations that would be it. Being free and being with Kurt and actually, actually _living_.

“You could take a year off,” Kurt says quickly, seriously, not a note of teasing hiding anywhere in his voice. “Come to New York and find yourself again in the heart of the greatest city in the world, away from your parents and everything they taught you here and you could -”

He thinks he can physically feel his heart growing, untethering itself from all his arteries and veins and smashing through his ribcage with how fast it’s beating.

“It’s insane -”

Stop they need to stop he can’t hope this much or want this much he never gets what he wants -

“- apply for school next year once you know what you want to do -” Kurt continues through Blaine’s protest, hand grabbing desperately at Blaine’s.

“I can’t -”

Kurt’s voice loses its frantic tone, and he just sounds calm, collected, and honest as he says, “You need to be in a place where you can try.”

Blaine’s heart completely stops, and his eyes go wide as he licks over his lips and tries to say something but his mouth has gone dry, his lungs have closed up, his brain doesn’t work. He forces his breath out and whispers, “New York.”

Like it’s the answer to everything.

Kurt nods furiously, hand hot as he tightens it around Blaine’s. “I know it’s crazy it’s - it’s certifiably insane but -”

He’s finally able to breathe normally, maybe for the first time in months, letting it all out as he says, “A million times better than staying here.”

They laugh. It’s crazy it’s crazy it’s crazy and it wasn’t even an idea until thirty seconds ago but now it feels like a plan, a real plan, the start of the road to the rest of his life and it’s _crazy_. But it feels like it’s already solving every single one of his problems. A new place, a new world, with unlimited possibilities and no walls to be contained in and no voice of a monster in his ear. A whole new chance to start over, a new chance to try.

It’s everything he could ever want and he didn’t even know it until now.

He squeezes Kurt’s hand back, closes his eyes and tries to be rational, just for a second, because if his heart falls from this high up he will never recover. He laughs again, nervously, bites over his lip and asks, “Like . . . together?”

Kurt laughs too, sharp and bright, and asks incredulously, “Who else would you go with?”

“I mean -” He pulls away a little, just a little, has to be realistic because if they go together, it’s not just his future he could be messing up. “I can’t get in the way of what you need to do, Kurt, I can’t stomp on your dreams -”

“You’re not,” Kurt says instantly, like he just knew that’s what Blaine was going to say. “You’re helping me. Having you there. I wouldn’t have made it this far if it weren’t for you and - nobody cheers louder for me than you do and New York is going to be even harder and I’m - I’m not saying all you’d be doing is cheering me on but I do need you and -”

“Kurt,” he laughs, interrupting him, throwing both arms around his shoulders and pulling him in. “I get it, I get it.”

It only makes sense to kiss him, and to kiss him hard, grabbing his face with both hands and tilting his head into it, and it’s not like any other kiss, any other touch, it’s like a promise. And when Kurt kisses back, opens his mouth under Blaine’s and lets him in, it’s like he’s promising right back.

But they’re both still breathing too hard, hearts beating too fast, both breathless and giggly with stupidity and hope, laughing against each other and unable to move away from each other.

“Together,” he says again, the one word he’s fixed on. Forget about the fact that he’s going to a new city in a new state in a new world without any real, solidified plan, that’s not what’s important. He’s going with Kurt, and Kurt nods against him quickly, like that’s the most important fact to him too.

“We’ll have to live in a box.”

“We’ll have to share a bed.”

“We’re going to _hate_ each other.”

Smiling hard and wide against Kurt, he kisses him again, and says like it’s been the answer all along, “We’re going to be together.”

Their future, his future, is starting on this couch, in this room that is so big and unused and full but empty, and he can’t wait to get out of it, out of this town, can they just graduate already so they can be together?

He can’t stop kissing him, he knows he should, knows there are words to be said and things to be done and he should go get his laptop so they can start looking for places and fuck he’s going to need a job and he needs to call his dad and say _I know what I’m doing and it’s going to be everything._

Instead he trails his lips down Kurt’s neck, overeager and excited and happy, and he’s always wondered what being happy actually means, because whenever he thinks he is it finds a way to vanish. But this, _this_ is what happy means, when every problem in his life suddenly seems fixable or too unimportant to really care about, when everything seems figured out and put together and not broken, when he knows what he’s doing and doesn’t have to worry about a single fucking thing except for the person in front of him.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, voice too high, hand tightening in the back of Blaine’s shirt.

He opens his mouth, feels Kurt’s pulse under his tongue, feels his breath by his ear, feeling him live and breathe and are they really going to be together, because that’s crazy, it’s insane, it’s everything -

“Blaine.”

He pulls back, frowning despite his best efforts not to, says quickly, “Sorry I got - carried away -”

“It’s okay,” Kurt says, his hand still twisted up in the fabric of Blaine’s shirt, moving it up and down, rubbing against Blaine’s back.

His eyes meet Kurt’s, wide and looking, seeing, and then flick down to his lips, to the wet spot on his neck that Blaine left behind.

It feels like he’s holding something heavy, looking at something bright, and he can’t believe it’s his, he can’t believe this is going to be his life. His future is going to be built right next to Kurt’s . . .

They’re going to have one together.

He kisses Kurt more slow this time, more gentle, thinking back to their first kiss where he couldn’t even believe Kurt was real and now they’re here.

Kurt’s the one to pull away, placing his hands on Blaine’s shoulders and creating space between them, and he’s confused but before he can say anything or put up a protest, Kurt says, “I love you, Blaine.”

And then he’s even more confused, frowning harder, head tilting. It’s not from out of nowhere, they say it often because they can say it often, but it’s how Kurt’s saying it, like it’s a reasoning for something.

“. . okay?” he says questioningly, realizing a second too late that that’s not how you're supposed to respond to being told something like that.

“When -” Kurt’s hands curl up tight, digging into Blaine’s shoulders, and nothing is adding up, not his touch or his voice or his eyes. “When is your mom going to be home?”

“Um, eight maybe, why -”

He hates himself for taking so long to understand, but Kurt can’t mean -

Kurt’s hands are scarily tight, almost painfully clutching to Blaine, his eyes more serious now than they were a couple of minutes ago when they were crazily planning their whole future.

“Kurt . . .” he says, barely above a whisper, and puts one hand down on his knee, the other hand on his hip, leaning forward and kissing him again. “Uh, room - my room, did you want to -”

If it’s too good to be true, it usually is.

Kurt nods, takes his hand, and despite it being too good to be true, he finds himself fully entirely believing in Kurt, because he doesn’t know what else he’d ever believe in.

-

Kurt’s wearing so many layers and it’s one goddamn week into May, he doesn’t need so many layers, a shirt and an undershirt and a tie and a vest, Blaine’s hands shaking as he tries to figure out what’s supposed to come off first.

It’s different in the light. It’s not quite past six yet, the sun still up and shining, just beginning to dim a little, lighting up the whole room. He can see everything, every detail that makes Kurt up, every little freckle on his face and the precise colour of his eyes, so it’s a bit hard to focus on something like the buttons of his shirt or the knot of his tie when Kurt’s glowing right in front of him.

“Blaine, who’s done this before here?” Kurt asks, laughing shakily across Blaine’s lips as Blaine kneels before Kurt and tries to work his tie off.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, finally getting the knot undone and loosening the rest of the tie, sliding it around and off Kurt’s neck.

He’s too worked up, a bit embarrassed for being so caught off guard, so unprepared, so he pushes Kurt onto his back and climbs over top of him, wastes no time in rucking up his shirt, sliding his hands under and along Kurt’s stomach, leaning forward enough to bite at Kurt’s lower lip, just to hear the sounds Kurt makes.

He wants to do everything, wants this to last all night and bleed into tomorrow and for Kurt to never leave, but he understands now what it means to be doing this with Kurt, so he takes a moment to think, to catch his breath.

“We can do whatever you want to do,” he says lowly, now trying to undo the buttons of Kurt’s shirt.

It’s here and right now that he feels it, even though his brain isn’t what’s in control right now and the rest of his system is nothing but static. Kurt’s looking up at him so openly it makes him hurt, trailing a hand up and down Blaine’s side, but he doesn’t tremble the way Blaine does, feels so sure and strong and brave.

He knows Kurt’s nervous though, because when he places a hand over his heart it races underneath his palm, but he won’t ask if Kurt’s sure about this, because he also knows that Kurt would stop him if he weren’t. That’s how strong Kurt is.

Kurt lifts himself up so Blaine can pull his shirt off his arms, and says with his voice breathy and high, “Just make sure I can walk tomorrow.”

He laughs and kisses Kurt’s jaw. “I’ll try.”

Once he’s got his own shirt off Kurt immediately reaches out to touch him, strokes his hands over his chest, the light splay of hair that goes down to his belly, eyes and fingers trailing over every line of his body.

In the light, he realizes that if he can see Kurt, then Kurt can see him, which is kind of odd, because nobody’s ever looked at him the way that Kurt does before. Kurt stares up at him like he’s made of magic and heaven and crystal, which he’s not, he knows that, but Kurt’s gaze never wavers.

He laughs a bit, dry and awkward, suddenly nervous. “What?”

Kurt’s smile comes slow, eyes moving up and down Blaine's body, settling again on his face.

But he doesn’t need an answer, because he understands it a second later, able to think through the haze and craze of the mess in his mind, and he gets it and god, how bad he wants to prove it.

Kurt’s said before he struggles with accepting the fact that Blaine’s real. Doesn’t Kurt understand that he’s only ever real when he’s with him? And he’s got two hands and two eyes and one heart and he’ll use them to prove it, to prove to Kurt that he’s real and that he’s not fading away.

“Nothing,” Kurt mumbles, and lifts his undershirt over his head. “You’re just -”

“I know,” Blaine says, suddenly understanding _that_ too, because Kurt in the light, _god_ , he doesn’t know how he’s going to last.

He kisses Kurt’s shoulder, where there’s a bruise beginning to fade, and he’s not sure if it’s from this week or last week or any week before that. A flicker of anger ignites low inside of him, but quickly blows out, because he can’t get mad over that now because he can’t stop that, he can just -

Prove that he doesn’t deserve it, never ever, and touch Kurt like nobody ever has before, with all the love he can physically give.

After they left the auditorium hand in hand the other week, feeling more together than ever, Kurt told him what happened before, in his junior year, how afraid he used to be and how hated he truly was. Kurt says he’s over it, he’s pieced himself back together and moved on and that he forgot all about it when he met Blaine.

If that’s what he can give Kurt, if he can kiss Kurt and make him forget about everything bad that’s been done to him, then he’ll happily spend the rest of his life doing just that. He almost laughs out loud once he remembers - because he _can_ , and he’s actually going to.

He kisses down Kurt’s chest, hands more sure now as they work on Kurt’s belt, his zipper, eager to shove his pants down and off. “You’re so cold,” he murmurs against the skin above Kurt’s stomach, Kurt’s touch icy as his hands slide down Blaine’s back.

Kurt just laughs, and he can feel it under his lips, and it’s the most wonderful feeling in the whole world, being this close.

When he’s got Kurt’s pants off, he sits back on his heels and thinks, swallows around the block in his throat, strokes his thumbs across Kurt’s hip bones and thinks some more.

“We can just - do what we did before,” he says, a bit distractedly. “If you’re still scared.”

Kurt sits up, rising to his knees, quickly shaking his head. “No,” he says so surely, cold hands slipping down Blaine’s abdomen, fingertips edging under the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down.

He lied. He thought before that singing in front of Kurt would be scarier than this, being naked with him, because he’s done _this_ before, but no, he was wrong, it’s this it’s for sure this. Because Kurt’s eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open and he just - touches Blaine like it’s nothing and Blaine can’t add anything up, can only lean against Kurt’s body and pant like he’s running out of air even though they haven’t started yet.

He has to remind himself that he’s done this before, that he knows what he’s doing, but what a fucking lie. He has no idea.

What’s he supposed to do with Kurt naked underneath him, no more layers or barriers and just his skin against Kurt’s skin and unlimited possibilities buzzing between them?

Stares, he stares, he shouldn’t stare but he can’t help it. Kurt blushes, red travelling down his neck and over his chest but he can’t stop, Kurt is perfect and beautiful and he can’t believe he’s seeing so much of him, all at once.

Seeing everything, and it’s this feeling of _wow, this is what I’ve been looking for this whole entire time, isn’t it?_

So he reminds Kurt, doesn’t want him to forget for even a second. “You are - how are you so beautiful?”

It’s an admission that burns Blaine’s cheeks, makes his heart swell up and freeze, and Kurt turns even more red, tugs at Blaine’s hair and says teasingly, “You already have me naked, you can stop with the flattery.”

His laugh comes out rough, and he nips at Kurt’s neck, pushes him back down on the bed, murmurs, “Just accept the compliment, Kurt.”

He blocks out his hesitance, because this is what he’s good at, touching and feeling, so he does, trailing a hand down Kurt’s belly, trying to remember how to breathe when he’s touching Kurt, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that they’re actually doing this.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he says, words scraping along his throat, taking Kurt’s nod as a go ahead, so he places his hand around Kurt’s cock, fully aware that nobody else has ever touched him there as he strokes him, feels Kurt come to life in his hand.

Kurt gasps his name, says it like he needs to say it to live, like he needs to say it to breathe. He grabs hard at Blaine’s shoulder, entire body going rigid, chest rising and falling fast, but Blaine keeps going, because he feels just as overwhelmed, if not more.

He watches Kurt’s face, his eyes that stay locked on where Blaine’s hand is, as he slowly works over Kurt, careful and careful and careful because too many people have hurt Kurt and he refuses to be one of them.

“That is - that’s torturous,” Kurt hisses, voice tight, eyes now focused on the ceiling as his hips roll upwards, pushing himself through Blaine’s hand.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, smirking, leaning down to press a kiss to Kurt’s collarbone. “Just wait for it.”

Kurt frowns, confused, mouth opening to say something else but Blaine quickly lowers himself further down, taking Kurt’s legs and pushing them up.

“Blaine -” is all Kurt gets out, every muscle of his that Blaine’s touching locking up and then jerking once Blaine’s got his lips around Kurt, knowing exactly what to do to make this good for him.

It’s terrifying, honestly, to be given this trust, to have somebody who has every reason to be afraid to just _let you_ , just let you in. Kurt spreads his legs wider and his hands claw at Blaine’s scalp, his neck, wherever Kurt can reach, seemingly unable to control his body as he bucks up into Blaine’s mouth and cries out.

But he expects this, because nobody’s ever done this to Kurt before, so he keeps going, ignores the burn in his throat and the ache along his jaw and keeps giving to Kurt.

He keeps going because while Kurt feels amazing and tastes and smells amazing, and being this close has him so excited that he can’t stop from driving his own hips down into the mattress, desperate for some form of relief against his cock, it’s the being told yes that keeps him alive and thriving. The way Kurt’s thighs go up, over Blaine’s shoulders, bracketing Blaine’s head as if to keep him there forever, because that’s Kurt saying yes to him and saying no to everybody else.

Saying yes to Blaine’s hands and Blaine’s mouth and saying no to all the bad things people have done to him with their hands (and their mouths, he thinks darkly) and forgetting about them, and letting Blaine in.

He pulls off, spit dribbling over his chin, over Kurt’s dick, wet and straining and flushed dark, and with Kurt’s legs spread - he doesn’t mean to stare, but he can’t help but look down to where Kurt’s sensitive and tight and untouched.

“Fuck,” he says, voice completely shot through, lacking the strength to make his eyes look anywhere else.

Kurt squeezes his thighs closed again, hand securing in Blaine’s hair, prompting him to look up.

“Can you - can you come up here?” Kurt asks, hips still lightly jerking upwards, like Blaine’s mouth is still around him.

“Sure,” he mumbles, but before he moves up he turns his head, kisses Kurt’s inner thigh, wanting to do nothing but leave marks all over him. Another day, he tells himself, when Kurt doesn’t need his legs to function properly. He hauls himself up, and Kurt’s legs go so quickly around Blaine’s waist, pulling them right against each other and he has to grit his teeth and breathe through his nose, because it’s too much.

He can feel Kurt sliding wetly against him, smearing pre-come across his belly as he thrusts himself against Blaine, and he knows he has to start reacting properly, should be giving back, but he feels ten paces left behind, can’t catch up.

“What - what changed your mind?” he asks, distantly, finally caving in and rutting down, holding back his groan when his cock finally, finally slides against Kurt’s, relief and heat surging hard at the base of his cock, balls drawing up tight.

Kurt’s eyes go sharp, his fingernails skating down and across Blaine’s shoulder blades. “I never changed my mind.”

He drops his head down, can’t find the strength to keep it up when he has to focus on how it feels to have Kurt directly against him.

“I mean - letting me do this -” he pants against Kurt’s neck, every inch of skin touching each other feeling hot now, like Kurt was never cold, sweat and heat building between them.

Kurt gives a short little laugh, not sounding humorous at all. “You’re not the only one with urges, Blaine.”

He manages to lift his head, meets Kurt’s eyes, and smirks. “So - you’re not afraid of - not knowing what to do?” he asks, thinking of the last time on this bed, when Kurt had pushed him back and said _stop_ , tries to think of what’s changed since then, what could have made Kurt think differently. “Not afraid of being - naked with me?”

Kurt’s breath hitches, chest heaving out and freezing there against Blaine’s when Blaine sneaks a hand down, stretches his fingers out to wrap around the both of them, lining them up, stuttering his hips forward from how fucking good it feels.

“I’m terrified,” Kurt says blatantly, voice high but somehow rough, making Blaine still his hand. “But it’s you.”

And of all the words that Kurt could possibly say, that’s got his heart soaring, pumping faster now, blood feeling new and electric as it filters through his system and he moves quicker, faster, fuck fuck fuck his knees are shaking hard where they’re digging into the bed, his hand hot and wet wrapped around them.

It feels like he could pass out, warmth shooting up his back, making his head spin, the only thing in the world making sense to him are the noises Kurt’s making, his heavy breathing, his gasps, the way he moans like everything he needs is what Blaine is giving him.

If this ever has to end it might just kill him, because this is the best he’s ever felt and he can’t imagine what life is like not touching Kurt, not being this close. But he knows it’s going to end soon, he can feel it in the way his toes are curling up, his hips breaking free of his control and going crazy against Kurt, in the way Kurt’s hands scrabble and claw up Blaine’s back and arms, down his hips and along his ass.

“Fuck, fuck -” He’s not sure what else to say because _fuck_ Kurt pulls his legs up higher, and his cock slips down too far, passing just barely over Kurt’s hole and Blaine loses it, cries out loud like he’s been stabbed, and he wants the noise Kurt makes then imprinted in his brain forever.

“Blaine Blaine - please -” Kurt sounds wrecked, throwing his head back against the pillow and digging his nails deep into Blaine’s skin, creating marks that’ll take some time to fade.

“Can’t.” He shakes his head hard and keeps rutting forward, not caring where he touches, desperate to be all over Kurt and inside of Kurt. “Have to - make this last - not yet -”

Hearing Kurt laugh now, sweet and quiet and light, cuts through the tension, the heat, and has him pulling his head up to look at him, and Kurt’s just _smiling_.

“But we have forever, Blaine.”

He almost forgot.

He laughs too, too happy too delighted, overwhelmed and excited, shoving himself up a bit higher to better reach Kurt’s lips, and kisses him hard, lets himself let go.

Everything hits him hard, slams up against his back and travels down his spine and crashes through his system, causing sparks and static and a piercing white noise to ring through his ears.

He hears Kurt’s loud breathing, his name being chanted, feels Kurt’s heart wild under his, and he never thought a promise could feel like this.

Forever.

Kurt comes underneath him, onto him, between them, mixing with Blaine’s and then it’s even messier and hotter and Kurt keeps jerking through the aftershocks, spreading it further with every push of his cock and it takes every bit of strength to not pass out now, to not shut down and restart.

He knows that this, what they’re doing, isn’t the actual promise. Kurt tries to breathe, chest heaving underneath Blaine’s, one hand pressed flat to Blaine’s sweat-slick back and one hand buried in Blaine’s hair, not pulling away from him, and that’s it, that’s the promise. Being together.

They can try. Forever is a scary word and he didn’t believe in it before Kurt, still struggled to understand it with Kurt, but if somebody like Kurt can love somebody like Blaine, if they can make each other feel like this and if they can be so afraid and so brave together, then they can try for forever, can’t they?

He reluctantly pulls away, hissing out his breath at how sensitive he is, feels rubbed raw, suddenly exposed, but that doesn’t stop a spike of arousal from shooting down low in his belly when he sees Kurt’s stomach, covered in their come.

“Shit,” he groans, settling back on his heels, frantically looking around for his shirt so he can wipe Kurt off, grabbing it from the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, here -”

“Blaine.”

Kurt sounds desperate and demanding, and Blaine quickly looks back. “What?”

Kurt hauls himself up, supporting himself up with one arm and using the other to wrap around Blaine’s neck, pulling him closer, putting his lips on Blaine’s, sealing that promise that Blaine swears he will never break.

He thinks he should feel terrified right now, his future in his hands. But he isn’t, because it only feels right, because this is just what he’s been looking for, searching his entire life.

The sun is shining outside, but he’s well aware that not everything in the world is as perfect as everything in this room, and he knows he has a phone call to make and a reality to face but he really doesn’t care, not right now. He pulls back a little, lips still brushing against Kurt’s, and asks, “We’re really doing this, huh?”

He’s not talking about what they’ve just done, but everything they’re going to do.

Kurt nods, and he’s not sure how anyone can look so certain when talking about the rest of forever.

“Are we crazy?”

He laughs. “A little bit.”

“Well good,” Kurt says, and smiles, nudges his nose off of Blaine’s. “That explains why I’m not scared.”

His heart stops, because if he thinks about it, he isn’t either. Not a single bit. Never. So he kisses Kurt one more time, because he’s never been good with words and that’s the only way he knows how to say it all.

I can’t believe he’s mine, and I’m his, and if life is just one big game then I win.

And this is what the prize is.

“Kurt.”

He closes his eyes tight for one second because a million words form in his head suddenly but none of them mean enough, none can express just what he’s feeling, but then the right words hit him, and he’s said them before and he's heard them from Kurt before, but they mean something else now.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline for this story sort of follows season 3, but differs in many areas as you might have noticed, so I'm sorry for any confusion and I hope this helps clear things up a bit! Writing this was a lot harder than I thought it'd be holy smokes, I think I died twenty times. 
> 
> (also wanted to say we're nearing the end here, I'm afraid. I'm going to estimate 2-3 parts if my brain cooperates)


End file.
